


Purple Llama Slippers

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Bad Cooking, Cooking, F/M, God Bless You Paul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 10:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Would you be able to write a Paul/reader fic, please, wherein the reader has had a bad day and Paul cheers her up with a romantic evening and snuggles?'Always here for cutie Paulie.





	Purple Llama Slippers

“<…and make sure they’re all done by Monday!>”

You wish, so badly, you could flip your boss off as you walk outside, but you close your eyes and just step out into the watery Berlin autumn sunshine. You are done for the weekend - long weekend, Friday off, thank _god_ … and you see Paul waving at you across the car park. _God bless_. He looks so handsome in his beanie hat and comfy jacket. _Dad chic_ , you grin.

“ _Guten Tag_ ,” he grins, and kisses you. “I like the work look very much.”

“Hush you.” You clamber into the passenger seat, and he gets in, starting the car and driving you out of the car-park - you are pleased to see the back of that place. “What’s the plan, Paulie? Are we going to go home, drink wine and bitch to each other?”

“You are the perfect girlfriend. I hope you know of that.” He reaches over and squeezes your leg. “I have a plan, _Häschen_.” You look at him. “You do not need to panic, you do not need to be all dressed up.”

“We aren’t going out, are we?” you ask in the desperate tones of a defeated and socially-anxious woman, and he shakes his head.

“Nope.” He leans over as you pull up at a red-light, and kisses you. “I would not do that to you.”

* * *

You step inside your house, hackles lowering as you relax, and he guides you immediately to the staircase. Something is… you aren’t going to say ‘up’, but going on for sure, and you look at him, eyes narrowed.

“Go and get changed. Get comfortable.” You sniff - something smells… okayish, and he pushes you towards the stairs. “Go!” You jog upstairs and get changed into your fluffy purple pyjamas - he did say comfortable - and purple llama slippers, before making your way downstairs again.

“Paulie-”

“ _Do not come into this kitchen_!” You stop in the doorway, and your brow furrows. It really _does_ smell nice. “ _I swear by God, (Y/N),_ _if you set foot into this kitchen_ -”

“Alright, alright, you rabid hamster,” you mutter, smiling a little, then raise your voice. “Where do I go?”

“ _The dining room!_ ” he says back sharply, and you detect a note of panic in his voice. The nice smell, although still infinitely more pleasant than ‘no food at all’, has taken on a distinctly carbon smell, and you shrug, making your way into the dining room. You two have used it exactly twice - once for a party when you moved in, and once for your last birthday when your parents flew in to see you both. You have very little reason to come in here except sometimes when Paul can’t be bothered hoovering.

So it takes your breath away to see it decorated such - there’s a lacy white tablecloth on the table, and placemats all set out at one end - cutlery, correctly put out (you didn’t realise you _had_ cake forks) and glasses set out. There’s even a bottle of wine in the middle of the table, and you smile brightly as you sit down. The vinyl player in the corner is very quietly playing something; you hold your breath, and hear a few seconds of _Sgt. Peppers_ before you hear very loud, very angry swearing in English, German and Russian from the kitchen. You’re impressed, a little.

“Paulie? _Kann ich helfen?_ ” you call, and there’s silence for a few minutes.

“ _No, sweetheart, I am… alright!_ ” comes the reply, and that pause makes you suspicious; however, you pour yourself a glass of wine, and lean back, singing along quietly to the songs as they come up.

“ _For the benefit of Mr. Kite…_ ”

“Okay.” Paul appears in the doorway. You check him for any singeing surreptitiously; you suppose anyone who has spent more than two months in the company of Till Lindemann is probably 90% fireproof anyway. He exhales wearily. “Dinner is about to be served-” He does a double-take. “Are… you wearing pyjamas?”

“You said comfortable.” A smile crosses his face, a dreamy one built of love and wonder, and you feel your cheeks pink. “I’m comfortable…”

“Sweetheart.” He sighs. “I have given you the least burnt pieces.” You roll your eyes.

“Paulie, you cooked for me. That’s… beyond sweet.” He smiles at you again, and vanishes back to the kitchen, returning a second later with two plates. It’s steak, potato wedges, and vegetables - which ones, you aren’t sure, as they’re all a little… crispy, but you think there’s a parsnip on there somewhere.

“I made the wedges by hand,” he says, anxiously, sitting down with his plate, and you look up at him, hearts presumably bursting from your eyes at that moment. “I seasoned them with salt, and some… uh, like they have at Nandos.”

“…you’ve been to a Nandos without me?” you ask, and he nods. “I am _offended-_ ”

“You were not always in my life!” he shoots back. “But please. It should be… uh… medium-cooked.” He swallows nervously, and you cut off a piece and take a bite. It’s really nice, actually - a little crispy in places, but delicious, and you wink at him.

“Delicious, servant. Thank you.” He visibly relaxes, and tucks into his own. “So you set this up just for me?”

“It has been far too long since we took each other on a date night,” he smiles, and you feel your cheeks pinking again. “Just because we are living together does not mean we should stop romancing each other.”

“I’m romanced,” you smile, and he beams at you. “What’s the plan later?”

“I am running you a bath,” he says, “and then we are going to _both_ wear our pyjamas and we can watch a film together.” You swoon, and he laughs. “I am now domesticated, so you should take advantage of this.” You reach over the table and pat his head. “…I am so heavy metal, right? Shouldn’t we be sacrificing a child together or something?”

“We can do that after the movie,” you grin. “Thank you, darling. Thank you so much.” He looks at you with that soft, loving smile again, and your heart flutters. “I love you.”

“ _Ich liebe dich auch_ ,” he says, playfully, and you sigh.


End file.
